


A Posse Ad Esse

by iaspis



Series: A Posse Ad Esse [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Original, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Especially Not Borderlands 3 Compliant, Eventual Romance, F/M, Humor, Major Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Original-ish Lore, POV Alternating, Plotty, Post-Tales from the Borderlands, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaspis/pseuds/iaspis
Summary: They’d worked so hard to get to this moment. To stand at the precipice of triumph, where only a handful of others have stood before them. All the blood they’d spilled, all the sacrifices they had to make – it was a small price to pay for a moment like this one. And besides, it can only be downhill from here, right?Opening the Vault was supposed to be the hard part.Turns out, it’s all the shit that comes after it that’s the real pain in the ass.In which the end of one tale is just the beginning of another. Let’s take it from the top, shall we?
Relationships: Fiona/Rhys (Borderlands)
Series: A Posse Ad Esse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555165
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	1. Prologue

Trust is built in moments.

At least, it is for people like them.

People who cheat and steal, who tell more lies than truths – or maybe just people with a selfish nature that can sometimes win out in the end. Leaps of faith are usually a risk not worth taking in their respective lines of work, and for all the ways they’re different from each other, in this one they’re exactly the same.

So they build it in moments, because that’s all they know how to do. In flashes of honesty here and there, traded under the guise of light-hearted jokes and comments made in passing. They’re small things, trivial things, but over time, all those tiny pieces start adding up to something bigger. Something neither one of them could have ever expected.

Friendship. Understanding. Maybe even a certain kind of fondness.

And in this moment, they both finally begin to understand it. This one moment with static humming in the air and a comfortable silence stretching between them. There’s something they both want to say but don’t need to, and something else they don’t know how to explain and are too afraid to try. It’s a strange thing, to look at each other and see themselves reflected back. To realize that all along they’ve just been two sides of the same coin, fighting so bitterly over the past that they’d forgotten about the future they made together.

And then one of them moves. Neither could say who, but it doesn’t matter. The moment is over, already an echo of a memory hastily dismissed out of fear of the unknown. And that’s okay, they both think, because they have time. Time to figure each other out. Time to figure _themselves_ out. They’ve waited this long, haven’t they? They can wait a little more.

Besides, there’s phat loot to collect. Mysterious, glowy Vault boxes don’t just open themselves.

They reach for it together, that same electric feeling in the air igniting in their veins as their fingers touch the stone. Rock starts to break away and pull apart, light flooding from the gaps and it’s _bright_ – so bright that they have to look away, at each other, exchanging this look of _oh shit_ and _what the hell?_ If there’s anything in the box, it’s been swallowed by the blaze, so sharp and unforgiving that eventually they have to shut their eyes altogether lest they risk blinding themselves for good.

There’s a resounding _crack_. A roll of thunder in the distance.

And then they begin to fall.

Though their vision is limited, the feeling of plummeting down to depths unknown is unmistakable. They call out for each other, grabbing desperately for sleeves or fingers or whatever they can reach, but when thunder rumbles once again, a deafening roar splitting open from above, they can’t help but clap their hands over their ears.

It booms, over and over, unrelenting. With every _clap_ and _sizzle_ , it gets louder, closer. There’s so much electricity in the air that they choke on the heat of it, suffocating.

They can just barely make each other out – nothing more than silhouettes of shapes and color – but he finds her, somehow, his hands on her face and in her hair and over her ears. His fingers are wet and slippery but he doesn’t let go, and she’s too paralyzed with fear to resist.

It all presses in. The light and the noise and the heat. They’re drowning in their senses and it’s too much, it’s _too much_ , but there’s nothing they can do except cling to one another. When lightning arcs across the space above them and strikes them both, they can’t even hear their own screams.

Everything goes black for one long, terrifying second.

And then.


	2. That's Pandora For You

There’s something wrong with what is happening right now.

Actually, scratch that. There’s two things.

First off, she’s not dead. That's a surprise, all things considered. Not to sound ungrateful.

Secondly, she has sand in some _very_ uncomfortable places.

Fiona manages a cough (which hurts) and then a wheeze (which hurts a little less) and then she goes ahead and adds her mouth and nose to the list of uncomfortable places with sand in them. If the sheer amount she just inhaled is anything to go by, she’s lying face down on the ground.

The very hot and apparently sandy ground, to be exact. Her favorite.

Well, as much as she loves eating dirt, there are probably better uses of her time. Fiona takes another minute to catch her breath before she begins rolling herself onto her back, putting just the tiiiniest amount of weight on her left arm only to yelp and flop back over onto her belly when a white-hot shock shoots all the way up her side.

Shit. It feels like she’s on _fire_ , pain smoldering from her ear down to the very tips of her fingers.

She wiggles around to get a better view of her forearm and is greeted by a sight so gruesome it makes her grimace. The backs of her knuckles look near charred, skin already flaking off and starting to blister. Unlike the rest of her body, that area feels more numb than outright excruciating – which, on the one hand, she’s almost thankful for considering how her flesh is sloughing off like that, but on the other, it doesn’t bode well for the state of her nerve endings.

Great. Just what she needs. Like she’s not still recovering the function she lost in her right hand when that mustachioed prick shot her through the palm.

After some careful maneuvering with her right arm this time, Fiona eventually manages to get herself on her back. A clear, deep blue sky stretches endlessly above her, not a cloud in sight. Which is weird, because the last thing she remembers, she was in the Vault, and Vaults don’t have pretty blue skies. Or sand, for that matter.

Then again, she didn’t think they had creepy stone boxes that unleash the fury of hell when you touch them either – at least, not until about five minutes ago. So there’s that.

Wait a second. Where the hell is Rhys? She cranes her neck around – which feels like crap, just like everything else right now – but she doesn’t see any sign of him from where she’s laying. Just... a lot of weirdly colored sand. Has it always been this orange?

“Rhys?” Fiona calls out, pushing herself up on one elbow. She can tell she’s in a ditch, but there’s nothing else around to help her figure out exactly _where_ she is. “Rhys, where are you?”

No response. She reaches up to her earpiece to see if she can make contact with him over the ECHO, but it seems busted. The line’s gone completely silent. So _if_ Rhys is even nearby, he’s either unconscious or... otherwise incapable of answering her.

Okay. No need to panic. Things like this happen all the time. People get teleported out to the middle of nowhere by freaky Vault lightning on, like, a daily basis. This is completely fine!

_...Hooolyshitwhatisshegonnadogoddammitcrapshit–_

Movement in her peripheral cuts that train of thought short, and she whips around her head so fast that her neck cracks. It would have been worth it if it was Rhys, but all she can make out through the ridiculously bright sunlight is a dark blob being gently swept along the perimeter of the ditch she’s in. A dark blob that looks... suspiciously like her hat.

Fiona pats the top of her head. Yep, it’s gone. Dammit.

Well, if there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to get Fiona moving, it’s the notion of losing her hat. Large amounts of money are also effective, but the hat is a sentimental thing. She has a deep emotional connection to it. Plus it makes her look cool.

Sitting all the way up is easy enough, since she was already halfway there anyway, but standing is a longer process. She rolls herself onto her hands and knees first – well, _hand_ and knees, given that her left arm is effectively useless – and then slooowly pushes herself upright. Her whole body aches and her joints feel like they’re filled with cement, but at least nothing seems broken. She might have cracked a rib or two, she decides after twisting around experimentally, but she’ll live.

Sighing, Fiona puts her hands on her hips and considers the incline out of the ditch.

Alright. First thing’s first; reacquire her hat. That’s obviously priority number one here. Then – and only then! – will she look for Rhys. He might be lying around here somewhere in a puddle of his own drool. Knocked out, maybe, but hopefully still alive, because if he’s dead, she’s going to...

Fine, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. But she doesn’t have the upper body strength to drag his corpse all the way home, so. Rhys is definitely alive. He has to be. For the sake of her squishy arms.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for Fiona to climb up the slope. Once she’s at the top, she takes a moment to soak it all in – all the sunlight and the heat and the sand.

She turns all the way around in a circle, but... Wow. There’s really nothing else out here. From what she can tell, she’s in some kind of gorge; steep cliff faces stretch as far as she can see on either side of her. Other than that, it’s just her and the desert.

And also her hat, of course. It’s on the ground a few feet away from her, upside down and already filling with sand.

Awesome. She’ll be brushing the stuff out of her hair for weeks.

She starts ambling over to it, her gait slow and a bit awkward to compensate for the absolute agony she’s in, but then a breeze picks it up and sends it flying even further away.

Oooh. So _that’s_ the game they’re going to play. Fine. Fiona limps over to where her hat landed, but just as she gets close enough to grab it, another gust rolls on through and the brim slips right between her fingers.

Really.

With a huff, she keeps on marching after it. It blows up over a small hill and down the other side, and after struggling her way up to the precipice, Fiona nearly keels over at the top. She takes a minute to catch her breath and mop some of the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand before looking up.

Only to nearly jump right out of her skin, because out of all the things she might have expected to see in the middle of this dusty hellhole, another _person_ wasn’t one of them.

Another person who is... way too short to be Rhys. They’re wearing one of those cowboy cape things and a large brimmed hat, and a scarf conceals the lower half of their face. They have goggles on too, so Fiona can’t tell if they’re just as surprised as she is or... what.

But whoever this is, they have her hat. It looks like they were in the process of shaking the grit out of it before she showed up, but now they’re just frozen with their arms outstretched and are staring up at her in silence.

At least, she thinks they’re staring at her? She’s not entirely sure, actually.

“Uh. Hi?” Fiona says.

The stranger doesn’t respond, but they do clutch Fiona’s hat closer to their chest. Oh, fantastic. She’s been here for five minutes and she already has to wrangle her property back from some tiny... cowboy... thief... person. This day just keeps getting better and better.

“Listen, buddy.” Fiona starts closing some of the distance between them. “I know you probably just found that and thought, ‘Oh, wow, what a neat hat! Nobody’s around so I guess it’s mine now!’ But it actually just so happens that it belongs to me. So. What you’re doing right now? It’s called stealing.”

The stranger cants their head to the side, looking down at the hat and then back up at Fiona.

Oh, no. She doesn’t even have to see their face to know what they’re thinking. _She_ wants it, which is making _them_ want it even more.

“Hey,” Fiona raises her voice, stumbling forward to try to rip it from their greedy little hands. They dodge her easily, almost skipping as they circle back around her. What an asshole. “Give it back. Seriously. That hat is _mine_ you undersized twer–”

She doesn’t even have time to finish that insult. There’s a blur of motion, and all the breath is knocked right out of her as her back hits the ground. A shout escapes her, followed up by a gasp and a wheeze and other mostly failed attempts at breathing. _Why_ did that just have to happen? She was already hurting enough as it was. Now it feels like she’s drowning in the middle of a desert. Oh, the irony. The painful, painful irony.

It takes a few seconds for her lungs to remember how to function again. God, what did that little jerk even do to her? Was it a punch? A kick? She couldn’t even tell because they moved too damn fast. Also, someone that small definitely shouldn’t be able to hit her hard enough to knock her on the ground. That defies, like, all the laws of physics.

“Alright, you asked for it,” Fiona coughs out as she clambers back up to her feet. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to–”

Wait a minute.

What the hell.

Fiona turns all the way around in a circle, and then does it again to make sure she’s seeing things right. The stranger is gone, no sign of them anywhere. Like they never even existed.

Uh. Did she just... hallucinate all of that? Oh, crap. She’s already losing it.

Fiona checks her head again but it’s still woefully bare, so at least that part is real. Which isn’t all that comforting, actually, because that means she’s probably not getting her hat back.

And with that depressing turn of events, there’s only one thing left on her to-do list. Even though she has the strong urge to lay back down and wait for exposure and/or her extensive injuries to kill her, it’d probably be best to power through it.

Besides, if Rhys really is close by, it would be irresponsible to just leave him to fend for himself. Sure, he can be resourceful when he needs to be, but... well... Look, she’s not _worried_ or anything like that, she’s just... uneasy with the idea of leaving him unsupervised for extended periods of time. That’s all.

Fiona tries her ECHO again, but this thing is totally broken. Not even a little bit of static is coming across the line. She rips the device out of her ear and pockets it – maybe she can find someone to fix it later.

For now, it’s time to pick a direction and walk in it.

* * *

Fiona trudges on for what feels like hours. The sun is cruelly hot, beating down on her until she’s drenched in sweat from head to toe and it feels like she can’t breathe.

The amount of pain she’s in really ups the ante – not to mention having to navigate the hills and valleys of the terrain. Unpredictable winds don’t help much either; buffeting her this way and that and, at one point, even shifting to blast directly into her face. Fiona does her best to shield her eyes against the grit and sunlight, but unfortunately, there’s only so much her arm can do.

Every step feels more impossible than the last. She keeps her head on the swivel for any sign of Rhys, calling his name over and over until her throat feels raw. No matter how loud she yells, though, she never gets an answer.

Eventually, she has no choice but to call it. Despite how far she’s walked, she still has no idea where she is, or where Rhys could possibly be. But with no sign of civilization on the horizon in any direction, her best bet right now is finding whatever shelter she can so she can rest, regroup, and decide what to do next.

Fiona turns to start making her way towards the edge of the canyon. If she’s lucky, she might be able to find a cave or overhang along the cliff face.

It’s not an easy journey across the divide. Every cell in her body feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out, and by the time she’s approaching the cragged wall of the gorge, she’s barely able to keep herself standing upright, the pain so intense that she’s close to gagging on it.

The ground, at least, grows flatter as she treks on, which is a very much welcome reprieve. It’s not much longer before her left hand begins to throb – or throb more than everything else already is, anyway. Fiona takes another glance at it but it still looks the same as it did before; all ugly and black and very gross looking. It definitely needs to be cleaned, but she doesn’t have any water on her, which... could be problematic. Baking heat plus dehydration equals slim survival odds, and that’s _before_ factoring in the chance of her hand getting infected.

So there’s another thing she’s going to have to take care of. Somehow, some way.

Fiona continues pushing forward until finally – _finally_ – she spots a deep, vertical crack in the rock up ahead. It’s wide at the bottom, maybe a few feet across, and grows narrow up towards the top. Rocks come crumbling down off the jagged archway as she approaches it, so the chance of a cave-in probably falls a little higher than she’d normally be comfortable with, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all that jazz. And besides, if she has to keep walking for much longer, she thinks she might actually die.

Fiona readies her Roshambo, wincing as she curls the stiff fingers of her right hand around the grip as tightly as she can, and cautiously steps closer to the gap.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” a voice rings out from behind her, making her jump.

Fiona whirls around, finger itching over the trigger, and finds...

The stranger – no, the _hat thief_ , from before. They’re standing on top of a large, fallen rock that must have come loose from part of the bluffs and can’t be any less than twice Fiona’s height. And they didn’t even swap hats either. They’re still just wearing their own. Unbelievable. Why bother stealing _her_ hat if they’re not going to wear it?

At least this answers the question of whether she hallucinated that whole encounter or not. So there’s one mystery solved. But, more importantly, why are they even here?

Fiona points an accusing finger at the thief, keeping her gun trained in their direction. “Have you been following me?”

“Yep!” They shove their hands in their trouser pockets all nonchalant-like. “I was waiting for you to check out so I could loot your corpse.”

Fiona scoffs, lowering her gun and turning back towards the cliffs. This punk isn't worth her time. “I don’t have any more hats for you to steal. Go away.”

There’s this loud scuffling noise, and Fiona turns back around to see the thief has somehow slid all the way down from that rock without seriously injuring themselves. How did they even get up there in the first place?

“Not really in the market for any more hats at the moment. Thanks for that, by the way. But like I said, you don’t want to go in there.” The thief waves a hand towards the crack in the rock and then crosses their arms. “Ooor maybe you do. I dunno. If you want a one-way ticket straight into the afterlife, then be my guest.”

Narrowing her eyes, Fiona takes a half step away from the crack. There’s a chance they’re just screwing with her, but there’s a chance that they’re telling the truth too.

“What... is in there, exactly?” she asks.

The thief considers her for a moment, or at least, it seems like they do. Just like before, the goggles make it almost impossible to tell. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Fiona rolls her eyes. “Look, squirt, I’m really not in the mood for games.”

“Just making an observation.”

“Good for you. Now go make it somewhere else.”

“Your hand looks pretty bad,” the thief points out, their own hands falling to root around in some of the pouches on their belt as they take a few steps closer. “Did you burn it on something? I probably have a hypo in here somewhere...”

Fiona jerks her Roshambo back up. The thief stops dead in their tracks and Fiona takes the opportunity to move backwards.

“Get any closer and I’ll put a bullet in your foot,” Fiona says.

“Okay, okay. You like your personal space. I get it.” Exasperated, the thief puts their hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You, uh, might want to turn around, though.”

“Why? So you can shoot me in the back when I’m not looking? That’s not happening.”

Something _hisses_ behind Fiona, sending a chill up her spine.

“No,” the thief says as Fiona risks a glance over her shoulder. “Because of _that_.”

That.

Is one _big ass_ snake.

Fiona spins on her heel to face it, scrambling backwards. Reared up, it’s taller than she is, and it still has a good length of its body on the ground behind it to boot. Three sets of eyes blink at her in unison as it hisses again, spitting something at her that she’s just barely able to avoid getting hit by. Whatever it is lands on the ground and starts sizzling, eating away at the sand.

Oh, so it’s huge, freaky looking, _and_ it spits acid. Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse!

The initial shock wears off and Fiona brings her Roshambo up to shoot at it, but something whizzes through the air and hits the snake right in the side of its head before she even has a chance to pull the trigger.

“ _Over here!_ ”

Fiona whips her head around to find that the thief is standing on top of another rock that should have been impossible to climb, reloading what looks like a crossbow. How do they keep getting up on those things? It’s really starting to freak her out.

The snake whirls to face the thief, spitting a wad of acid in their direction. The thief dodges and shoots again, hitting the snake in one of its eyes this time. While it’s distracted, Fiona makes sure she’s using the incendiary chamber on her gun before firing up to hit it right in the back of its head.

The beast roars and and rears back around to face Fiona as the scent of burning flesh fills the air. The thief tries to goad it into looking back at them, shooting it two more times with their crossbow, but Fiona has its full attention now. It gets ready to spit another stream of acid and she stumbles backwards, fumbling for her extra ammo.

Oh, shit.

Fiona tries to roll out of the way, she really does, but after all it’s been through today, her body has apparently decided that enough is enough. Most of the acid misses her, thankfully, but some of it lands on her right arm and immediately starts eating through the material of her jacket. She yanks it off before it can reach her skin, throwing the garment to the ground.

Half the sleeve disintegrates before it comes to stop. Goddammit. When is she going to have time to fix this? She’s not sure if she can even replicate the stitching on the cuff. That took forever to do the first time.

Fiona gingerly picks the jacket up and ties it around her waist as best she can. Sure, she avoided having her arm eroded off by acid, but at what cost?

Too great of a cost, she firmly decides. Much too great.

Once she turns back around, Fiona sees that the thief finished off the snake while she was, er, busy. Mourning her... material possessions. And all that. The beast is on the ground, acid still dripping from its open mouth, and the thief is standing on its head trying to pull a dagger from the top of its skull. Fiona doesn’t even want to know how they managed to get that there.

“You, uh...” Fiona starts walking back over, giving the dead snake a wide berth. “You fight these things often? When you’re not stealing hats, I mean.”

The thief finally manages to yank their knife out, almost losing their balance from the force it took to dislodge it. “Yeah, I guess. They mostly stay in their dens, though, unless they’re out hunting.” With a shrug, they wipe their dagger clean on their pant leg and hop back down onto the ground. “This one’s cleared out now, at least. And hey! Now you have dinner.”

“How do you know that there’s not more in there?” Fiona wonders.

“Solitary animals. And very territorial. Trust me – they want as little to do with each other as they want to do with us.”

 _Trust_. That’s a lot of ask for, especially considering the first interaction they had with each other involved theft and physical assault at Fiona’s expense. She ponders that as she staggers over to inspect the cavern the snake left behind, clutching a fist to her ribs and hissing between her teeth with every step she takes.

“Are you okay?” the thief asks, maintaining their distance this time. “You’re limping a bit.”

Fiona waves them off. “I’m fine. I’ve taken harder punches.”

“Right. Sure. I just meant that your landing back there looked a little rough.”

“My... I’m sorry, what?”

“You know, when you landed.” Fiona turns around to face the thief and they shrug, gesturing vaguely. “When you... fell out of the sky?”

Fiona stares blankly at the thief. She just... fell out of the sky? Just like that?

“You _know_ ,” the thief continues after a moment, crossing their arms over their chest. “There was this huge flash of lightning except it was... purple. And the thunder, and... the... Look, I’m not crazy. I know what I saw.”

Fiona just shakes her head. At least that explains what the thief was doing there when she came crawling out of that ditch. If she saw the sky open up and spit out a person instead of rain or whatever, she’d feel inclined to investigate too. It sounds impossible, but after actually living it, it’s nice to have her experiences validated by an eyewitness.

But. Wait. They only saw _her_ , right? Not Rhys? Did he fall out of the sky somewhere around here too and the thief just missed it? If that’s the case, and they haven’t found each other by now, then she needs to keep looking for him. He could be hurt, or unconscious, or...

“Listen, lady,” the thief interrupts that train of thought before it has much of a chance to leave the station. “It’s none of my business _how_ you got here, but it’s pretty obvious you have no idea what you’re doing. Or where you even are.”

Fiona swallows her unease for the moment and takes the last couple steps towards the hopefully now empty snake den. “Enlighten me then, oh great wise one.”

“I don’t know if I should. You’ve been pretty mean to me, you know? Calling me names and all.”

“You stole my hat. I think that warrants a few instances of name calling.”

“Hey, for all you know, I was gonna give it back.”

“ _Were_ you?”

The thief is quiet for a second. Fiona glances back to see that they’re fidgeting with the frayed ends of their scarf. “Well... no. But that’s not the point.”

Rolling her eyes, Fiona peers inside the cave. For as big as that snake was, this place is pretty small. It probably gets bigger towards the back, maybe even widening into a larger tunnel, but it’s really dark. And damp. And smells so much like rotting viscera that she almost yarfs right then and there.

So. Even after all that crap with the stupid snake, this is just another bust.

Fiona backs away from the cavern with a sigh, bringing up a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. If _one_ more thing could go wrong today, that would be fantastic.

“What is it that you want from me, exactly?” she addresses the thief after a minute. “My valuables? An apology?”

“I just think we can help each other,” they say with a shrug. “You’re looking for shelter, right? And you probably need water and medicine. I happen to have,” they make a big, sweeping gesture, “ _all_ of those things. All for the low, low price of nothing. Well, almost nothing.”

Fiona scoffs. “I think I’d rather stab myself in the back instead of waiting around for you to do it for me.”

“I’m being serious. I want to help. I feel g... g-g...” They cough, kicking at the sand. “I feel _guil_...”

“...Guilty?”

“Yeah. That. About the whole hat thing. And also punching you.”

Fiona crosses her arms. “I’m confused. Does this mean I _do_ get my hat back?”

“Oh, yeah, no. I’m going to hold on to that for now, if that’s alright with you.”

What kind of question is that? _If that’s alright with you_. Of course it fucking isn’t.

“Sooo,” the thief pipes up again. “Do we have a deal or not, lady?”

“Just... one more thing. How do I know your _help_ ,” air quotes, “isn’t conditional and that as soon as I expend whatever usefulness I have to you, I won’t wind up waking up in a ditch somewhere with both my kidneys missing?”

“You don’t, I guess. You have no reason to trust me. But at this point, it’s just about your only good option.”

Sadly, that’s probably true. She could always take her chances and keep wandering around at random, but even on the off chance that she would be able to find adequate shelter that _doesn’t_ reek like a slaughterhouse, she still has no idea what she would do about water. Or how to go about fixing her hand.

Also, if she’s being realistic, she can’t continue searching for Rhys in this condition. Not if she wants to live to see tomorrow. Plus, her hat is being held hostage, which is completely unacceptable. If there’s even the smallest chance she’ll get a chance to nab it back at some point...

Fiona throws her hands up, exasperated. “Ugh. Fine. Lead the way to your... dungeon of doom. Or whatever. Just stay in front of me.”

“Aye aye, captain." The thief gives her a little two-finger salute. "This way, then. Follow me.”

* * *

They walk in silence as they make their way back down the gorge. It's not long before the thief suddenly veers off towards a gap in the cliff face that's just barely wide enough to squeeze into. Shade offers a small respite once they’re through, but it’s still so damn hot that Fiona is sweating in places she didn’t even know she could sweat from. She’s going to need a looong shower after all of this is over. And also a really stiff drink.

Eventually, Fiona spots a break in the rock up ahead. They emerge from the canyon into another stretch of desert, and something... odd is raised out of the sand in the distance. It’s hard to make out from this far, but it looks like a ruined city of some sort. Tall, crumbling spires reach up towards the sky, their bases almost completely swallowed by the landscape.

The thief points at it. “There. That’s where we’re going.”

Of course it is. Why was she hoping it could be some picturesque oasis or something like that? Or at least somewhere with indoor plumbing? She should have known better. The whole _dungeon of doom_ thing was mostly a joke, but now Fiona is starting to think it hit a little too close to home.

“That place... definitely looks haunted. Or cursed. Or maybe both,” she informs the thief. “You’re not part of a cult, are you? Please tell me I’m not going to be sacrificed as part of some ritual to appease the hat thief gods.”

“Not haunted, possibly cursed. And can you not call me that? It’s rude.”

“What, a hat thief? Do you not like labels based on your actions? Maybe you should have thought about that before you stole my hat.”

The thief stops walking and turns around to plant their hands on their hips with a huff. “I _do_ have a name, you know.”

Silence stretches between them. The thief said that like they were going to belatedly introduce themselves, but now they’re just having some kind of pseudo staring contest and it’s getting kind of weird.

“Well,” Fiona says, “unless you tell me what it is, I’m just going to keep calling you a hat thief. Because, you know, that’s what you are.”

“...It’s Flick.”

Fiona can’t help but snort. “Your name is... Oh my god. Like the ant, right? From that one movie?”

“What? No. I have no idea what an ant even is. Is that something you just made up? That sounds like something you just made up.”

“You... What? They’re bugs. You know what a bug is, don’t you?”

“Um, yeah, I know what a _bug_ is. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Well, you don’t know what an ant is, so.”

They give her a dirty look. Or, Fiona assumes it’s a dirty look. With the way this conversation is going, it’s probably a dirty look.

“And _you_ didn’t know what a viper was,” the thief says, spinning back around and setting off again. “So, I guess that makes us even.”

What the hell is a... Oh, right. They must be talking about that enormous snake monster thing. That’s barely a valid argument, though. The thief– er, _Flick_ even said it themselves; she’s obviously not a local. Being unfamiliar with foreign wildlife is hardly the same as not knowing what an ant is.

Still. Fiona decides not to push it. Some hills just aren’t worth dying on.

* * *

The rest of their journey across the valley is quiet. As they get closer to their destination, Fiona realizes that the ruins are much more expansive than she originally thought. The remains of decrepit buildings start a mile or two out from the city itself – or what’s left of it, anyway. Most of the structures are partially or completely buried by sand, making for a stark contrast between the towering frameworks of old skyscrapers and the gently sloping landscape around them.

Passing by all this rubble, Fiona can’t help but wonder what happened here. She’s never seen any place like this before. It’s like the whole city was swallowed up by the desert. It’s... strange. And more than a little creepy.

Weaving around all the rusted skeletons of the outlying buildings, they gradually make their way into the heart of the ruins. The aging architecture soars above their heads – and, surprisingly, a good portion of the concrete they were built out of still clings to the metal frames. Granted, there’s still visible signs of damage and decay, and Fiona feels like she’s tripping over bits of debris every five seconds, but at least these buildings seem like they’ll provide better cover than a dingy cave would have been able to.

Flick leads the way with confidence as if they know every twist and turn of the place. There’s no sign of an ambush – or even any other people in general – but Fiona stays alert just in case. Best to expect the unexpected.

Finally, they round a corner into a narrow alleyway between two buildings, and Flick nods to the one on the left.

“In here.” They approach what looks like a solid wall, shoving aside a chunk of loose cement that’s twice as big as they are to reveal a jagged hole in the concrete. “Come on in.”

Fiona moves to follow as they disappear inside, taking a deep breath before stooping down and wriggling through the gap.

It’s relatively dim once she’s through, at least compared to outside, so it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. She also doesn’t move too far from the entrance in the meantime in case this turns out to be a trap after all. Eventually, though, she can discern that the room she’s in is way too small for anyone else to be hiding in here, rectangular in shape and longer down than it is wide. It’s cramped and cluttered, and it's obvious that rubble has been cleared away to make room for its occupant’s belongings.

Flick is directly to her left, standing in front of a rickety old table that has probably seen better days. The surface has so much random crap on it that she can barely see the wood that lies beneath; everything from extra clothes to assorted weapons – no guns, interestingly – to glass bottles filled with mystery liquids. The mess isn’t limited to the table, either – it extends to the ground surrounding it and all the way down the wall as well.

“Welcome,” Flick begins, still facing the table as they take their hat off and set it to the side, “to my humble abode.”

Fiona eyes the shabby bedroll pushed into the back corner, worrying that she might leave here with more fleas than she came in with. “It’s... nice?”

“It’s not, but it’s home. Don’t mind the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors.”

Yeah, Fiona thinks. No kidding.

Flick unwinds their scarf and throws it down on the table haphazardly before unfastening their cloak to give it the same treatment.

“Alright,” Flick says as they turn around to face Fiona. “Let’s take a look at that hand.”

Now that their features are unmasked, Fiona finds herself... utterly taken aback. And at a near loss for words. “You... You’re... just a kid?”

Without the scarf and the cape and the goggles, Flick looks a lot less like a creepy cowboy and a lot more like... well, a _kid_. They have a deep olive complexion and a faint smattering of freckles across their cheeks and nose. Their hair comes down past their shoulders, though most of it is tied back which gives them the appearance of looking a bit older. But their face is still soft, and it reminds Fiona a little bit of how Sasha didn’t lose all her baby fat until she was in her twenties.

Dark eyes blink at her slowly, and their eyebrows draw together in a scoff. “Okay, judging by the tone in your voice, whatever modicum of respect you might have had for me just got swept away by the total shock you’re experiencing right now. I’m not sure my ego will ever recover from this. So first of all, ouch.”

Fiona idly notices they have a gap between their two front teeth as they speak. She shakes her head slowly. “It’s just– I wasn’t expecting you to be so...”

“...Completely normal looking? Yeah, the goggles and stuff tend to throw people off a lot.”

“I mean, I was going to say _young_ , but–”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Oh,” Fiona says stupidly.

“Twenty-three in three days, actually.” Flick gives her the most half-hearted jazz hands she’s ever seen.

“Oh,” she says again, even more stupidly than before. “Happy... early birthday? I guess?”

“Thanks. Now, do you want me to fix your hand or not? I’m getting tired of asking.”

“I– Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

Flick claps their hands together. “Great. I need you to take your thingies off and go sit down on my cot.” They gesture towards the bracers on Fiona’s wrists before turning back around to rifle through the mess on the table. “How bad does it hurt?”

Fiona unbuckles the straps on her cuffs as she picks her way over towards the rear corner of the room. “It doesn’t. It’s kind of throbbing, but mostly it’s just numb.”

“Oh. That’s not good.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so either.”

Fiona unties her jacket from her waist and tosses it and her bracers to the side before sinking down on Flick’s bedroll. Now, she can plainly see the extent of the damage she sustained from the Vault. The entire back of her hand is burned, not just her fingers – though those certainly got the worst of it. It feathers all the way up her forearm, patches of purpley-red branching off and spider-webbing across her skin like lightning.

Flick joins her after a minute, kneeling down before setting some bottles of who knows what and a small bowl of water on the floor. Fiona must have blatant want written all over her face because Flick reaches around, unhooks a canteen from their belt, and hands it to her wordlessly. She mumbles her thanks and unscrews the top, taking a looong drink from it as Flick gently examines her arm.

“What did this?” they ask, rotating her elbow around. They glance up at her and then do a double take. “It’s there, too, on your face. I didn’t notice before. I thought it was just the sunburn. Can I see?”

Fiona hums an affirmative and Flick uses a hand to delicately move her hair out of the way. They make a face that can’t mean anything good and then lean back, considering all the bottles around them.

“I think the worst of it is on your hand,” they tell her, “but your ear doesn’t look so hot either. You have burns doing down your neck and I assume your chest and back too.”

Fiona stops drinking long enough to say, “Explains why everything feels like shit.”

Scratching the back of their head, Flick regards her for a few moments. “Were you... struck by lightning, by any chance?”

Fiona blinks. Once, twice, three times. Then she slooowly lowers the canteen from her lips, twisting the lid back on and setting it to the side.

Back in the Vault, the thunder had been so loud that Fiona was sure that her head would explode before she’d even get a chance to die from the fall. She’d tried covering her ears to block it out, but there was no use when the storm was right on top of them. It was thick. It was _heavy_. It was so inescapable that she’d felt smothered, like it was going to wring the breath right out of her and shatter her bones with its sound alone.

And then Rhys, he...

He tried to help her. Found her, somehow, and put his hands over hers to help muffle the noise while leaving his own ears exposed. Which was moot, and he had to have known that, but he still did it anyway.

Why? Why would he do something so reckless? To protect her? For all the good that did. Because when the sky finally broke – collapsing under the weight of itself – and tore open with an ear-splitting _crack_...

They were both caught in the crossfire.

Fiona folds her hands in her lap, studying where the burns on the back of her knuckles look deeper than the ones surrounding them. Imprints, she realizes. Imprints shaped just like his fingers.

With a sigh, Fiona finally drags her gaze back up to Flick. “Honestly? There was so much going on and it all happened so fast that I couldn’t really say for sure.”

She knows they claimed to see the whole thing, but she doesn’t want to sound completely off her rocker and admit that getting hit by lightning is probably how she wound up here in the first place. It doesn’t even make sense to _her_ , so the chances that the kid would buy it are slim to none.

“I don’t think anything else would make marks like this,” Flick says thoughtfully. They mull it over for a few more seconds, tapping a finger against their chin. Then they shrug and pull the bowl of water closer. “Well, they need to be cleaned no matter what caused them. You think it hurts _now_ , but it’ll be a lot worse if it winds up getting infected.”

Normally, Fiona would be more skeptical about letting a perfect stranger patch her up – especially one who stole from her – but Flick is right. If she doesn’t take care of this, she won’t be in any shape to continue looking for Rhys. So, she allows Flick to soak a rag in the water and take it to the back of her hand. It stings at first, so bad that she has to bite back expletives as they work their way up her wrist and forearm. They keep a firm grip on her, though, despite how much she tries to squirm and wriggle away.

“Have you– _Shit_ –” She tries to snatch her hand back as they pass over a particularly sensitive spot, but they jerk her wrist back into position. Fiona has to admit she admires their dedication. She just wishes it didn’t have to hurt so goddamn much. “Have you done this before?”

“Yeah,” they say quietly, and then, louder, “Yeah, I used to do it a lot, actually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s pretty dangerous out here. People get hurt all the time.”

“So there _are_ others?” Fiona waves a hand at them. The one that doesn’t feel like it’s about to fall off. “More of... you?”

Flick snorts, shaking their head. “No, there’s only one of me. Like I said, I live out here alone.”

“So where is everybody else?”

With a huff, Flick sits back on their heels and drops the rag in the bowl. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you? It’s not really helping the whole... lost puppy thing you have going on.”

Fiona scoffs. “I thought we already established that I’m, in your words, not from around here. I’m just trying to figure out where _here_ is, okay? That’s all.”

Flick purses their lips and then nods. “Fair enough. But all I meant was that you’re asking a lot of questions about _me_ when I don’t know anything about _you_. Other than you fell out of the sky. Which is pretty cool I guess, but you’re in my house, drinking my water, draining my precious resources–”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“–and I don’t even know your name.”

Oh. Yeah. That’s pretty rude of her, actually.

Wait, what is she saying? This little asshole stole her hat. Who cares if she’s being rude? Still, they have a point about everything else, and she supposes there’s not much harm in being on a first name basis.

“...It’s Fiona,” she says. “There. Happy?”

“Oh. Huh. That’s a weird name.”

“Says the kid named after a bug.”

Flick makes a pretty hilarious face at that, grabbing the cloth from the bowl and reaching for her arm again. “Whatever, Ramona. Let’s finish cleaning this up.”

“It’s Fiona.”

“That’s what I said.”

It totally wasn’t, but whatever.

* * *

“Aaand... done,” Flick says as they finish slathering Fiona’s hand in some kind of herbal paste that they swore up and down will do wonders. “Oh, wait, let me wrap your hand up.”

They start moving their stuff from the floor back over to the table, clearing the ground around Fiona and the bedroll. When they come back with a thick roll of cloth, she holds her arm out so they can wind the bandage around her fingers carefully.

“There,” they announce once they’re finished. “Now you’re done. And you’re matchies! Well, sort of.”

Flick nods at where Fiona’s right hand is bound in bandages as well. Those have way more stains on them than the new ones do, but the cloth is still relatively clean and dry, so they're not due for a change just yet.

“Thanks.” Fiona flexes her left wrist, examining Flick’s handiwork. “You didn’t have to do any of this. So, you know, thanks. For doing it anyway.”

“Well, a deal’s a deal,” they reply chipperly. Oh, right. She almost forgot about that whole thing. They still haven’t told her what they want in return for helping out, though. Ominous.

After putting the rest of their supplies away – it’s actually more like shoving them all back onto that table at random – Flick stoops down to dig through what looks like a big pile of laundry that’s right beside it. They pull out a blanket and spread it out over the ground next to where Fiona is still seated on their bedroll. Then, they plop down right in front of Fiona, crossing their legs and setting their elbows on their knees before plunking their chin into their hands.

“So!” they begin. “You’re not from around here.”

Fiona regards them suspiciously. “Yeah. We’ve established that. I think this is the third time now. And you keep not telling me where _here_ is.”

“Well, these ruins are called Ember. That’s what I call them, anyway. And where you fell out of the sky is just a gorge. I don’t think it has a name.”

Why are they avoiding the question? “I’ve never heard of this place before. Or even seen anything like it.”

Flick is quiet for a second. “Let me ask something different. If you’re not from here, then where _are_ you from?”

“Well, that’s easy. I fell out of the sky, remember?” Now it’s Fiona’s turn to be vague.

Flick doesn’t look even remotely convinced. “I meant before that, genius.”

Sighing, Fiona slumps back against the wall. “A place called Hollow Point. It’s in a cave. East of Old Haven.”

Their face doesn’t change.

“Unless you mean where I _just_ came from,” she continues after a moment, “in which case... a Vault. I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, but if it was your intention to rob me blind, I figure that you would have done it already. And I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway, since we went to all that trouble just to find out that the damn place was empty.”

Her voice is a little bitter there at the end, but she doesn’t think anyone could blame her. Vaults are supposed to be treasure troves filled to the brim with riches and power, but all she got out of it was a crispy arm and her hat swiped right out from underneath her nose.

Not to mention everything else she lost along the way.

Fiona heaves another heavy breath and looks up at Flick again, only to see that their eyebrows have drawn low in something resembling confusion. Overall, though, their expression is... very hard to read.

“What?” she says, once the silence has grown long and uncomfortable enough.

They snap out of it and shake their head. “Nothing. Just... You said _we_.”

Oh. Right.

She goes back to staring a hole in her lap, picking at the polish on her fingernails. “Yeah. I guess I did. I was with my friend, but... we got separated.”

“In the Vault?”

“No. After that. In the storm, I guess. I couldn’t find him afterwards, so my luck is, we got chucked out on opposite sides of the continent. It sounds crazy, but that’s Pandora for you, right? After everything else we've been through today, I wouldn’t even be surpri–”

“Did– I’m sorry.” Flick waves their hands in what looks like a desperate attempt to get her to stop talking. “Did you just say _Pandora_?”

“Uh. Yeah? Pandora. As in... I don’t know. Just Pandora. Like, the planet we’re on right now? That Pandora?”

Flick's entire face just... goes blank.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“This...” Fiona wets her lips, her mouth suddenly bone dry. “We _are_ still on Pandora, right?”

Flick blinks at her slowly.

And then they shake their head.

Shit.

“What are you– I don’t– That’s not– Shit. You’re screwing with me, aren’t you? You have to be. There’s no way this isn’t... There’s no way that damn _Vault_ sent me...”

Fiona trails off, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. If this isn’t Pandora... No. It has to be. It _has_ to be. It’s sandy, it’s hot, the people are weird and steal her stuff. It’s just like home, so there’s no _goddamn_ way...

“I’ll prove it to you,” Fiona says, cold desperation forcing her back up to her feet. Flick watches her silently, clearly doubtful, but she keeps moving towards the exit and motions for them to follow. “We’re still on Pandora. You’ll see. I’ll show you.”

Once they’re outside, Fiona raises a hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun. She searches the sky but the surrounding buildings are blocking her view, so she starts limping back up the alley, emerging out into a more open area to look again.

Somewhere, she’s going to see it. She knows she saw it on the way here. Didn’t she? Of course she did. Elpis will be hanging in the sky like it always is, like it always has been and always _will be_. Because they’re still on Pandora. They have to be.

She just. Has to find it.

“Hey!” Flick calls from behind her.

Fiona ignores them, pushing forward. Where the hell is it? It’s a humongous moon that always looks close enough to reach out and touch. How is she missing it?

“Hey,” Flick says, closer this time. A hand comes to rest on Fiona’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I don’t think you’re gonna find it. This isn’t Pandora.”

Fiona stops and turns halfway back around.

God. They look like they _pity_ her.

"Listen to me–” Flick starts.

“No. Shut up. It’s all these buildings, they’re just in the way–”

“ _Listen_ to me!” Flick actually grabs her by the arm and shakes her. “You’re not on Pandora anymore, okay? Whatever brought you here... I think it took you farther than you thought.”

Something clicks, then.

Or maybe break is a better word.

The crushing weight of it all – of opening the Vault and looking for Rhys and finally realizing something she thinks she knew all along – it all comes falling onto her shoulders at once. Her knees buckle and threaten to give, bile rising in her throat. This can’t be happening, she’s thinking, but it is. It _is_ and no matter how hard she tries to wake herself up from this nightmare, she keeps opening her eyes to a moonless sky, to sand that’s the wrong color, to a kid she never should have met.

Fiona sucks in a breath, half wishing she could pull the wool back over her eyes and keep seeing what she wants to see.

Denial is a powerful tool. It can make big pills – pills like this one – a lot easier to swallow.

But.

“This isn’t Pandora,” she finally says. She enunciates every word, slowly and carefully, like she’s speaking it into existence – or just trying to accept what’s already there.

Flick sighs and takes a step back. They’re giving her that pitying look again. Fiona can’t decide if it makes her want to laugh or cry.

“This isn’t Pandora,” Fiona repeats, “so... where the hell _are_ we?"

Flick smiles weakly. “Well, I guess it’s a little late, but... Welcome to Nona. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of it?”

Nona? Nona. Nope, not ringing any bells.

But she’s starting to get the feeling that she vastly underestimated just how bad this day is going to get. She can’t even tell herself, “Tomorrow will be better!” because she’s still going to be _here_ tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after _that_.

And with that thought, Fiona clenches her fists and kicks at the sand and screams with everything she has what she’s been thinking ever since she landed on this insufferable hunk of rock.

“ _Fuck_!”


End file.
